#471: Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!

I just mailed a letter to 50 of the most inspiring people I know. Each of them contributed to a fundraiser I held this spring in conjunction with my attempt to complete the Flying Pig Marathon in Cincinnati.  When I think of the song "Wind Beneath My Wings," these are the people I remember. Their encouragement and support help to keep this Fat Man Running.

July 13, 2013

Dear Friends,

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You! 

It has been three months now since the Flying Pig Marathon in Cincinnati, and the conclusion of the fundraiser you helped to put over the top: Living Strong at the Y 2013. Our goal this year was an ambitious one: $7000. Thanks to your generosity, we smashed through that wall and raised $7551. That is beyond anything we expected or hoped for. You taught me a lesson. No goal is too high when we reach for it together.

Thank You for Supporting Our Survivors

Your dollars are already at work in the LIVESTRONG® at the YMCA program at the North Lexington Family YMCA, and every penny is going toward helping cancer survivors and their families to enjoy the benefits of fitness, healthy eating, and new friendships, many of which will last a lifetime. I am so grateful to you for making all that happen. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Thank You for Running with Me

My very ambitious personal goal was to beat my 06:21:53 time in the 2012 Pittsburgh Marathon by an hour. I didn't quite do that, but I was able to finish in 5:42:35... almost 40 minutes faster. I was proud of that effort, and the special "Buck a Minute" pledges that it raised. I know that 5:21:53 target is still out there waiting for me. Your support and kind thoughts will help me to get there before much longer.

Thank You for Sticking with Us

I'm already planning and dreaming for next year. After consulting with the folks at the LIVESTRONG foundation down in Austin, I've decided to change the name of our project from Living Strong at the Y to Run Bob, Run. I checked with them because I was concerned that the original name of our project was too similar to the trademark “LIVESTRONG,” and might be confusing to people. Together, we came up with a title that reflects the focus and personal nature of our work. If you would like to visit the new online site, the address is http://www.crowdrise.com/runbobrun2014/fundraiser/pennsy

I haven't settled on next year's event, but be sure it will be a fun one. I'm thrilled with the things we have accomplished together, and can't wait to see where the next few months will lead us.

On behalf of the YMCA, the LIVESTRONG foundation, and the survivors and families who will benefit from your gifts, thank you. LIVESTRONG at the YMCA is alive and growing thanks to you. I hope you have a safe and joyful remainder of your summer.

Peace,

Bob

#443: MARATHON WEEK!

Post-time at the 2012 Pittsburgh Marathon
(back of the pack view.)

We interrupt this nervous breakdown for a celebration of life.

You may have heard that there's a big race in Kentucky this week. No, not that one. I prefer a race with a couple thousand runners where nobody ever gets whipped and they don't shoot you if you break your leg. This Sunday, after the horses of Churchill Downs are safely in the barn, Pigs will fly in Cincinnati, and Pennsy will fly with them.

I am counting the 2013 Flying Pig as a Kentucky marathon because there is actually about a mile and a half of the course that  crosses the Ohio River into Covington. The rest is in the friendly confines of Cincinnati, a city that would be Pittsburgh's closest sibling if it weren't for Johnny Bench, Kenny Anderson, and other assorted heroes from the Buckeye state. But for an accident of geography and the whims of an ancient glacier, Cincinnati might also be Kentucky's largest city. So I'm calling this a home away from home race.

I had several friends run in the Kentucky Derby Marathon last Saturday, (the only race that could get me to Louisville during these Bacchanalian weeks.) One knocked an hour off of her first 26.2, which I found really encouraging. I've studied the elevation charts for the Pig, and it's no joke, but not the test that Pittsburgh is either. If I can get to the 10 mile point feeling strong, I have high hopes.

I've spent the last two weeks working in the grief mines, and frankly, I've breathed enough misery dust to last me a lifetime. This week, I'm coming up for air. I'll be doing some light jogging, a little cross training, drinking lots of good liquids, and wearing the slippers Mrs P bought me to keep my tender feet safe from table legs and dog toys. I love talking about myself, but writing about depression depresses me. This week, I'll be writing about the opposite of depression. I'll be writing about love. About hope. About will. About strength.

About life.

The forecast for Sunday is partly cloudy with race-time temps in the 50s.

Gonna be a great day for a run!

Peace,
Pennsy

It's time. Please make your donation to Living Strong at the Y today. It's the reason I get up in the morning, and the reason I'm running on Sunday.

Rather just mail your contribution? Make checks payable to "YMCA" and mail to:

Robert Parks Johnson
Living Strong at the Y 2013
North Lexington Family YMCA
381 West Loudon Ave
Lexington KY 40508

#439: Why I Need You Now More Than Ever

Update on Living Strong at the Y 2013 Campaign

I wanted to let you know that we’re doing great… but we still have a long way to go before our race is finished.

People have been so generous. We have received over $2700 so far. That’s 40% of our goal with just 11 days to go until the Flying Pig Marathon on May 5^th in Cincinnati. I have run just under 180 miles so far to prepare myself. There will be plenty more before the starting gun goes off.

From the bottom of my heart, I want to thank the folks who have given so far.

If I could, I would get down on my knees and plead with the folks who haven’t. Please join us with a contribution.

What We Can Achieve

Last year’s campaign raised over $3600. Let me put that in concrete terms for you. Your contributions alone made it possible for 10 cancer survivors and their families to become members of the Y at no charge. Lifting weights. Running on treadmills. Participating in group exercise classes. Their spouses got to workout with them. Their kids and grand-kids got to swim in the pool. And all that happened because you stepped up with a donation to Living Strong at the Y.

This year, we’re trying to double that amount. If we can, we’ll be able to pay personal trainers and specialists in Yoga, Pilates, Zumba and nutrition to bring our participants even better training and information. We’ll be able to transport survivors to off-site locations for hiking, biking, and activities that their home facility can’t accommodate. We’ll be able to support this summer’s first session outside of Lexington when we bring LIVESTRONG at the YMCA to Georgetown, KY. But we won’t be able to do any of those things without the support of people who believe in our mission: helping cancer survivors to become cancer victors.

Why I Need Your Help in 2013 More Than Ever

Let me get personal for a minute. This summer, for the first time since our pilot program began in 2011, I will not be a part of LIVESTRONG at the YMCA. Severe Clinical Depression has forced me into an indefinite leave of absence from work and the people I love so much. It’s going to be hard sitting on the sidelines while the work goes on without me… but it will be so much harder if we have to cut back our programs because of a lack of funding.

I may be too sick to work for now, but nothing will stop me from running this race on behalf of the people who can’t. Please don’t let anything stop you from joining me in their fight.

We have received donations from $10 to $1000 from people who believe in the work we’re doing. Every one is a treasure. Please add your own gift to theirs.

Online, go to www.crowdrise.com and type “Robert Parks Johnson” into the search box to make your tax deductible contribution.

If you prefer, you can send a check, made out to “YMCA” to

Robert Parks Johnson
Living Strong at the Y 2013
North Lexington Family YMCA
381 West Loudon Ave
Lexington KY 40508

Because cancer can kill us, but it can never defeat us… if we Live Strong.

Peace,
Pennsy

#423: Running Long, Falling Short

"I went to the doctor. I went to the mountains..." My soul has always found healing in the mountains. This Sunday, the Great Physician led me to northern Kentucky where I got a generous dose of just the right medicine.

I had time for two long runs before my Marathon in May. The plan was to do 26 this weekend, take two weeks for recovery, then go longer than 26 one last time before the race. When a friend invited me on a run through the serious hills north of Lexington, I decided that the climbing would more than make up for the lost miles, and plotted a 20 mile course from Millersburg to my friend Sandy's house, deep in the hollers of Nicholas county. Before the day was over, I was to learn just how much I had under-estimated those hills. I would also experience one of the most gratifying failures of my life.

A Mountain Locker Room

We met after church. The weather was lovely. At 72 partly cloudy degrees, the Bluegrass finally felt like spring had arrived. Mrs P dropped me off in Millersburg where I joined my friend Jeri and some fellow runners. It was great to be in shorts and a singlet after the long months of tights and treadmills.

Jeri

Jeri and I started down the road out of town and we were soon climbing. She set a pace that was a little quicker than I would have liked, and chose 5:00 run/1:00 walk intervals. I planned to run the first 5 or 6 miles with her, then she would turn back while I continued on for my long run. I figured I could take the challenge of keeping up with her stronger legs for a little while, but the pace and the hills soon told me otherwise. "I can't keep up with you, Jeri. I'll slow down and you go on ahead." She seemed mystified. "What? I thought I was trying to keep up with YOU." She had interpreted my attempts to follow her as an effort to push her. We switched to shorter run intervals, and the trip became much less of a trial.

Take me to the River

Bridge Over Peaceful Waters

Blood and Sweat, but
No Tears... Yet

We talked about running and grandkids and dogs and our marriages. We puffed up the hills and gasped at the beautiful views from their tops. When my teeth popped out of my mouth (again...) we laughed at the silliness of it, and when a misstep off the edge of the black-top sent me tumbling, we joked about other great falls we had suffered on the roads. When we rounded the bend that led us to the covered bridge at Colville, our time together seemed much too short. Jeri's husband was there waiting with water, and Jeri snapped some pictures of my gory looking leg before I trotted off down the road toward the remainder of my journey. The hills were brutal and beautiful. There were long, steep climbs followed by descents that always seemed too short. Sometimes the roads led me along a ridge where I could see for what seemed like miles. Other times I followed along beside creeks in deep valleys where ancient houses, trailers, and barns lined the road sides. Occasionally I would pass someone feeding horses or just relaxing on their porch. They would stare in puzzled amusement as I jogged along.

I encountered lots of other critters on my way. This isn't thoroughbred country. No million-dollar farms out here. These horses work hard for a living, and it shows. Their pastures and their coats are both a lot rougher than their cousins at Keeneland, but they are no less beautiful. Cattle knelt by roadside fences as if in prayer, and lumbered warily to their feet as I passed. An occasional snort from a muddy pen let me know that next winter's hams were rooting contentedly in the shade. And of course, there were the dogs. Working dogs are like working horses. No carefully bathed sissies out here. There were the big old shepherds patrolling fenced in yards. Shaggy giants roaring from barns. And then there were the Pits.

There is a certain amount of... how to put this?.. home-style chemical manufacturing going on in these woods. Years ago, that might have meant white lightening. Probably still does in some places. But things being how they are in the mountains nowadays, the products are more sinister. Meth labs are scattered among the shacks and abandoned out-buildings in the hills, and they take a terrible toll on our people. Of course, whether you're cooking meth or moonshine, you need a security system, and that often means dogs that are meant to keep strangers far away. A couple of bruisers charged at me as I ran, but I just raised myself up tall, didn't change my pace, and acted for all the world like the biggest dog in the woods. Once they saw that I was not weak or wounded, and had no intention of stopping to sniff around, they always settled down. One even sidled in beside me and trotted down the road quietly for a couple hundred yards. I'm not sure if he was  being a partner or just escorting me off the property, but it was funny having such a fierce looking monster on my heel for a while.

The terrain had been rough all day, but around mile 10, I started wondering if I hadn't bitten off more than I could chew. By mile 13, I was pretty certain that I had. I switched my run/walk intervals to 30 seconds. Soon I was walking 30 and shuffling 30 with an occasional break to sit on a roadside rock where I contemplated the insanity of a 50 year-old-cancer survivor trying to raise money by running marathons. Somewhere during mile 14 I said it out loud: "I'm in trouble here." Cell phone signals are few and far between out in the hills. I had to wait to get to the top of one before I could see any bars on my screen. "I'm about five miles from you, and I'm out of gas," I gasped to Mrs P. "I need you to come and get me." After she had dropped me off in Millersburg, she had gone on to Sandy's house for some R&R. She had a detailed map of my route in case I needed rescuing. The two of them hopped in Sandy's truck and headed toward me.

As Far As I Was Going to Go

Knowing help was on the way gave me heart and I tried jogging a little. I was in a very pretty valley and the road was as flat as I had seen all day, so the going was pretty smooth. I knew from plotting my route online that there was a mile long hill, the steepest of the day, waiting at mile 17. Around 16.8, I came to a pretty little crossroads with a beautiful country church standing silently by. I saw a large concrete pad that I knew must be the sceptic tank, and limped to it. This was as far as I was going to go.

I don't remember what I thought about as I sat there on that cement sewer. I'm not sure I thought of anything at all. I was well past the "stupid zone" where my brain shuts off and my legs take over. Both were exhausted now, and I sat quietly in that contemplative state like a soggy monk, waiting for deliverance.

Just a Little Road Rash

Sandy almost drove right past me. She expected me to be back around mile 15, where I was when I made my SOS call. When she and Mrs P pulled to a stop in the gravel beside the church. I wasn't sure if I would be able to walk to the truck or not. My wife got out to help me, and fret over the blood that was caked down my right calf. My fall with Jeri had left me pretty well scratched up and the blood thinners I take had done their work.

As we turned onto the ironically named "Johnson Road," I finally learned just how badly I had underestimated this run. The mile long climb was as steep a road as I have seen anywhere this side of Colorado. I couldn't have run it. I couldn't have crawled it. As Sandy swung the big crew-cab across the bridge and up the long drive that leads to her house, I knew that they had saved me as surely as if they had rowed up beside me in a lifeboat on a stormy sea.

At Last, a Friendly Dog

No joke: this was the toughest run of my life. Not even my marathon left me as drained and helpless at this trip through the mountains. Along the way, I had questioned everything from my attempts to raise money to my dreams of running another Marathon. I had doubted myself and my own strength. I had doubted my own intelligence! After only 15 miles I had decided to just give up. I sent up a flare. I sat by the side of the road and thought about what it felt like to surrender.

Then I thought about the reason I was running. I thought about Becky, fighting for her life against the chemo that was trying to kill her second bout of cancer. I thought of Raynee and the tumor in her brain that threatened to steal her from her husband and little children. I thought of the scar on James' scalp and the fire in Jaspal's eyes and always, always Coach Carrie's voice. "You can't do this, Bob." And Melissa. "I see you running a Marathon someday." And Mrs P. "I believe in you, Bobbo." I got up off my ass when I didn't have a drop of energy left and no hope in the world of finishing this course, and I by-God ran. I ran two more miles after I was sure I couldn't go another step.

How? Courage? Determination? Stubbornness? Stupidity? God? Yes, I think it was God. God, who created me to be a runner. God, who let the cancer almost kill me so I could discover my own strength. God, who appears in the eyes of every survivor, every caregiver, every doctor and nurse and kind friend I meet in my battle against a disease I hate.

The View from Sandy's Porch

The two great seasons of the church year are Christmas and Easter. Incarnation and Resurrection. God with us, and God redeeming us. The spirit of God is alive in the people I serve. They are my inspiration and my strength. Whatever courage I have, I learned from the warriors I have met in the gym and on the road. That's why I run. That's why I'm always begging for money. And that's why I will run that crazy race in May.

Not because I can't let them down.

But because they won't let me fall.

Peace,
Pennsy

#422: Will You Bet On Pennsy?

When I ask for your money, I know I'm asking a lot. This year, I'm putting myself on the line to win your support. I'm going to try to smash my personal best in the Marathon.

Last spring, I asked a group of people to support me as I returned to my home town to run my first Marathon. I completed the Pittsburgh Marathon just two years after being diagnosed with the cancer that almost killed me. Family, friends, neighbors, and strangers rose to the challenge, and contributed $3685 to support LIVESTRONG® at the YMCA, a 12 week program that helps cancer survivors to use exercise, nutrition, and community to reclaim their lives after being diagnosed with this life threatening illness.

First as a participant, and now as a coach, I've had the chance to watch that money being spent. Our efforts last year paid for free memberships for 10 survivors and their families so they could travel together on their journey toward strength and wellness.

We did that together. This year, I’m challenging you to do even more.

BET A BUCK A MINUTE

In Pittsburgh, I finished the 26.2 miles in 06:21:53. Since then, I’ve been training to get stronger, tougher, and faster. I think I can beat my old time, and I’ll be trying to finish the Flying Pig Marathon in Cincinnati on May 5 in less than 05:21:00. That would be a near miracle, but then, miracles are sort of my business these days.Here’s my challenge to you:

I’m asking you to pledge a dollar for every minute I take off of my time in the Marathon. That’s $60 for an hour improvement.

HERE’S ALL YOU NEED TO DO

Drop me an email to let me know you’re ready to bet a buck a minute on me. Once the race is finished, I’ll let you know my official time, and you can make your contribution by mail, or online at my website: http://www.crowdrise.com/lsy2013/fundraiser/Pennsy.

We’re going to do such great things together. Ladies and Gentlemen, place your bets!

Peace,

Pennsy

Make checks payable to "YMCA" and mail to:

Robert Parks Johnson

Living Strong at the Y 2013

North Lexington Family YMCA

381 West Loudon Ave

Lexington KY 40508

#420: A 3K Weekend: Short and Sweet

Living Strong... Every day.

Before I start my looooooong race report, I want to ask you to please consider giving to Living Strong at the Y 2013. This is my fundraiser to support LIVESTRONG at the YMCA, a program that has transformed my life, and that helps cancer survivors to become cancer victors every day.
Please click the button and give what you can. Thanks, Pennsy >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I am well past the point in my life where I can even dream of leading a race, let alone winning it. My race is against the Fat Man I was; the sick man I became; the runner I have become; and the disease that tried to take that all away. I didn't win any medals or cups or awards this weekend... but I was victorious twice in two very different races.

EVERY DAY I'M SHUFFLIN'

And... they're off!

I love the Shamrock Shuffle 3K in Lexington. It is a St. Patrick's day tradition around here, and was the first event I ran after my cancer. It's 1.8 miles of music, laughter, costumes, and Kelley Green. It is a time for reunion with old friends who only race once a year, and with fellow runners you haven't seen since the ugly winter weather started. I arrived at the registration area about an hour early to look for friends, and found bunches of them. We talked about our plans for the spring season, and rejoiced at the weather. This race is usually run in weather that is... well... Irish. Cold. Rain. Lead gray skies. The temperature at race time yesterday was an impossible 59° and the threatened rain gave us a reprieve. This year's course sheltered us from the winds and was practically a straight out and back: level streets and one hairpin turn at the halfway point. It was going to be a great day.

I was shooting for an 18:00 race. The mistake that changed my day, not surprisingly, involved math. Instead of setting my Garmin to keep me at a 10:00/mile pace, I set it at 9:00/mile. I don't know. It made sense at the time. At the gun, I was lined up just behind the 16:00 pace. I figured the quicker runners would pull me off to a good start, then I could settle into my target speed. We squeezed through the narrow starting gate, guided by that paragon of wellness and healthy living, Ronald McDonald. The pace was quick, but comfortable as we headed off into the morning air. Most of us were running in shorts and a tee shirt for the first time all year. Strollers. Dogs. Kids running with their parents. I didn't have much trouble weaving through traffic because I was running with a fast crowd: much faster than I was used to. The little Virtual Partner on my Garmin showed me just behind pace for the first .75 miles, but by the turn, I had caught up and was on target. I never saw the 1 mile marker, but when my watched beeped, signaling the first mile, I was shocked to see I had run it in 9:00 flat. That was way too fast, faster than I had ever run a mile in a race before. I decided to hold on, and see how I felt at 1.5 miles.

My breath was coming fast now. My usual 2-in/3-out rhythm was down to 2/2. I could tell my heart rate was up, but my legs felt strong, and the core strengthening exercises Coach Carrie had been inflicting on me all winter were taking charge. I felt tall and powerful as we rounded the gentle curve down Main Street where the finish line awaited. I checked my watch at the 1.5 mile mark. I was way ahead of pace. I started pumping my arms and heard Carrie's voice urging me on, just as she did every Wednesday morning when she cranks the treadmill up to 9 mph and waits for the color to drain out of my face. I was still passing runners! I was taking a breath every stride, now. My chest heaved, sucking in fuel. My lips puffed , blowing out exhaust. Just as I felt that last, sprinting gear kick in, I blew out something else. My upper denture flew out of my mouth. I gave one hopeful swipe, trying to catch the most expensive thing I own before it fell to the asphalt below. I saw something white fly off of it as it skidded along the street beside me. Barely slowing down, I crouched , picked them up, checked for broken glass, and popped it back in my mouth. No time for delicacies now. I ran hard. My legs started to feel heavier as the lactic acid built up in them. It seemed to me that I was really slowing down, but I kept catching other runners as the finish clock came into sight. 16:00! There was no way I was reading that right. I was running without my glasses, so I obviously had the numbers confused. My arms pumped fast as they remembered all those dumbbell rows I had done at the Y. My legs churned, recalling the hours spent sprinting in the pool with Christy on Tuesday afternoons. I crossed through the finish gate without even a glance at the clock and pushed the button on my watch, hoping I had hit the right one.

The first friend I saw was Sharon, a former fat woman who had just taken 3rd place in her speedy age group. She had been at the finish line for about three minutes when I arrived. "How did you do?" She asked. "Don't know," I gasped. "No glasses. Can you read my watch?"

16:21. Average pace, 8:46/mile. Absurd. No way. But the official time, confirmed it. I had bettered last years time by 3:38. When I started working with Coach Carrie, I told her I wanted to get faster. The woman knows her business.

ONE MORE TIME

Quite possibly the coolest race shirt in my collection.

Sunday, after church I went to the Y to train with the LIVESTRONG at the YMCA survivors. This was a very different day. 38° and a nasty looking wintry mix that kept them all at home, safe and warm. I did 7.65 miles on the treadmills at my target marathon pace, a much more modest 11:15. A long, hot shower finished the jog off  nicely, and I drove home to put my race bag together for the 6:00 start of the Run for the Gold 3K in Frankfort KY. The rain was sleet now. My defogger struggled to keep up as I made my way to the state capital. I was about an hour and a half early, and when I stepped out of my car, the wind bit my legs in spite of the tights and warm up pants I was wearing. I stuffed my hands deep into my gray fleece Y Staff jacket and walked to the tents where The Pogues were blaring in the rain from lonely speakers. A DJ shivered in the wind. The sweet lady who handed my my packet smiled sympathetically. She was grateful for my support of the even, but was obviously certain I was insane for being there. I moved my car to the parking lot of the Frankfort YMCA, and slipped in for some shelter and a friendly face. I found plenty of both. I took a little tour of this charming old downtown Y, then went out to the car to decide just how many layers I would be wearing for the race.

It was still cold, but the sleet had mercifully slowed, so I decided against the rain suit. .A short sleeved tech shirt, long sleeved tech shirt, and a long sleeved cotton YMCA tee would do the trick. I left The warm-up pants on over my tights, slipped on two pairs of gloves, and pulled the black and yellow knit "chemo cap" that one of my LIVESTRONG participants had made for me down over my ears. I was as ready as I was going to be. Now to test these legs.

The felt like they were made of stone. I walked/jogged around the downtown area, feeling like I was pulling a trailer. Jogging was hard. Running was out of the question. I warmed up gently, paying mind to every little tweak and twinge. "What's that in my foot?  OK, it's gone. Is that a cramp in my calf? No, just a little knot working it's way out. Is my knee hurting? Walk a few steps and it smooths itself out. I trotted around blocks and buildings for half an hour, not daring to test race pace. There would be no repeat of Saturday's triumph. I moved my pace clock down to 9:30min/mile. We'll try a couple of blocks and see if I can get up to that speed. Finally, it was time for the gun. I saw my old running buddy DJ, he was way up with the burners. We bumped fists, exchanged good wishes, and parted. I made my way back to the 20:00 finishers. This was going to be a much longer race for me. The gun fired, and as the crowd funneled its way through the gate, there was frigging Ronald McDonald again. Why does McDonalds have such a presence at events that it works so hard to make impossible for most people? My indignation provided the spark that my cold engine needed to finally turn over, and I slipped in behind a guy in a bright yellow running jacket who was passing the crowd along the left side of the road. I didn't try to stay with him long, but he gave me a tow and got me up to racing speed much faster than I would have done without him. The course is pretty on a pretty day. The first half is a long, mostly gentle climb toward the Capitol Building, then a nice speedy descent back toward the Kentucky River and the finish line. I wasn't worried about passing runners this time. I would catch up with one whose pace I liked and tag along for a few yards until I felt strong enough to move by them to the next one. I really don't remember much of the race itself. Only the sensation that it felt much shorter than the Shamrock. The long, downhill run after the turn was as good as a rest stop as I let gravity do the work for me. It was short work making the downtown loop. I had already jogged it several times while I was warming up. I smiled and greeted the heroic volunteers who stood along the route, guiding and encouraging the runners. I wouldn't call my finishing stretch a sprint, really. Maybe 8.5 out of 10. Of course, by then, that WAS my 10. I found DJ, who had smashed his own PR to bits. We sipped water, walked together for a while, then parted ways as he went to find a friend, and I went to find my glasses so I could make out the time on my watch.

16:54. 9:23 minutes/mile. Not bad. Not bad at all.

SPEED AND ENDURANCE

So that was my weekend. Two short and sweet events that reminded me just how blessed I am to be alive. This is why I tell my story. I want people to know that redemption is real. God has plans for us that we know nothing about. And the love of friends can lift us to heights that we can barely dream or imagine.

Time to put the stopwatch away for awhile. The road ahead is all about the miles. My first marathon took me almost 6 and a half hours to finish. I hope the next one is faster, but I have to be sure I can keep going for as long as it takes. There are some long, long runs ahead of me. But something tells me I'm going to love every step.

Peace,

Pennsy

#419: Race Report - 2013 Inaugural Railrunner 10 Miler

Yesterday was my first race of the spring season, a 10 miler on the beautiful grounds of the RJ Corman compound in Nicholasville KY. Mr Corman is a railroad mogul and philanthropist;  a cancer fighter and a runner who generously makes his property available for races like this one. I arrived at 7:00 AM, two hours before the start, for reasons I just cannot explain. It was 36° and the sun was just teasing its way up over the hills when I pulled into the parking lot. I spent a few minutes wondering if I had packed enough layers in my race bag, then decided to take a hike down to the start/finish line for a little re-con. It was much colder than I expected. The forecast was for temps in the 50's, and those would arrive, but not until well after lunch. For now, the air was biting. I shoved my hands a little deeper into the pockets of my gray Y Staff fleece, hoping I had packed a jar of Carmex to protect my lips.

After checking out the site, I headed back for the car, passing a few friends on the way. We were all bundled and shivering; smiling at one another with the demented joy that only runners can understand or consider sane. At the car, I switched some clothes around, adding a long sleeved wind resistant layer to go under my gold Y singlet. I swapped the loosely knit black and yellow cap that had been a gift from one of my LIVESTRONG at the YMCA participants for the thick red toque that Coach Melissa had given me. I had tights on under my black shorts, but decided to leave the warm-up pants on until starting time. I still had an hour before the start, and my choices were to stand around freezing, sit in the car getting tight, or go for a jog before a 10 mile race. Jogging seemed like the least offensive option, so I trotted off toward the start again, figuring I'd check out the first quarter mile or so. It was definitely warmer once I got moving.

Dave Storing Up Heat for the Winter

I had just turned around and started back when I saw my friend Dave coming down the course. Dave and I are among the tribal elders in our running community --  you know, the ones who are so "inspiring" for running "at that age." I hung a U-turn and eased in beside him. Turns out, he was determined to get five miles in before the race. Fortunately for me, he already had three under his belt. We moved along at a much faster pace than I wanted to do, but the conversation and laughter lightened my stride and before I knew it, we had done 2.25 miles together, and gotten a really good preview of the start and finish of the course. This included a trip over the craziest steel bridge I've ever run across. When there are more than five people running on it, the thing flexes like a springboard. If Dave hadn't have warned me about it, I might have broken both ankles when I hit it during the race.

After a heart-stopping wait in line for a pre-race port-a-potty stop (I could have slipped off into the cedars, but I was wearing all those Y logos...) I joined a few friends at the start line in time for the Star Spangled Banner and the gun which was a blast from a train whistle.

The race itself was really lovely. There are plenty of gentle hills and lots of  hollows still full of last weekend's snow. There are a couple of unique features. A busy railroad line runs around the boundary of the property, and the engineers tooted their whistles joyfully as they passed the long line of brightly dressed runners in the morning air. I've already mentioned the bouncing bridge. There is also a tunnel that leads to the most distinctive part of the course. Part of Mr Corman's business is to respond to railroad accidents all over the country, and that means being ready to zoom off at a moment's notice. That's why he has his own jets and his own airstrip. The race included a two mile loop from one end of the runway to the other. The course then looped back through the tunnel, and around the grounds to a long downhill finish. Lots of support. Lots of music. Lots of (unnecessary) ice to keep the water bottles cool and refreshing. And the best part, lots of friends cheering one another on. A great way to get racing season moving.

Some of the Toughest People I Know...
And the Best Job in the World

Before I left the house yesterday, I decided that I would dedicate my run to my friends who are living with relapse. As I spend more time with cancer fighters, I meet more people who have had two or three different diagnoses in their lives. I wanted to honor them with my run. Strangely enough, I didn't give them much thought until the last, lung-burning, leg-aching half mile sprint to the finish line. That's when their names and faces started to appear in front of me. Becky. Jaspal. John. DeeDee. Art. James. There was no way any of them were going to be running any 10 mile races this day, so I would run it for them. I spoke their names quietly as I breathed smooth and deep, just like Carrie had coached me. I ran that last quarter mile in just over two minutes. I wish I could have carried them all on my back; instead I carried them in my heart.

Today (Sunday), I had a nice, easy recovery run. 5 slow miles on my beloved Legacy Trail. 62°. No timing. No pacing. No gasping for air or pushing to the top of the hill. Just a simple run for the love of running on what felt for all the world like the first day of spring. And then I came home to find that Living Strong at the Y 2013 had just raised our first $500.

My God... what a great weekend for a run! Or two. Or three...

Peace,
Pennsy

                  

#418 Living Strong at the Y 2013

March 8, 2013

Last year, thanks to the love and support of family, friends, and neighbors from all over the country, you and I came together to raise $3685 to support LIVESTRONG at the YMCA: a 12-week program that helps cancer survivors to become cancer victors through exercise, nutritional education, and fellowship with one another. The program includes a three-month family membership to the Y at no charge to the participants. To put it in practical terms: our contributions payed for 10 participants and their families to experience the same program that helped me make the journey from cancer patient to finisher at the 2012 Pittsburgh Marathon last May.

I’m asking for your help again, and this time we have a much bigger plan in mind.

Instead of targeting just one event, we’re assembling a team of cancer survivors who will be running all spring long, starting tomorrow at the Railrunner 10 Miler in Nicholasville KY, and finishing in May at the Flying Pig Marathon in Cincinnati. We are runners who have all known what it means to hear the words, “You have cancer,” and chosen to fight for our lives. I am proud to be training and running right beside them.

Thanks to the grace of God, the love of my friends and family, and the skill of my doctors, I have been able to survive my fight with cancer. I have dedicated my life to helping other survivors to fight their own battles. As a trainer at the North Lexington Family YMCA, I see their courage and will every single day. Since I was a participant in Central Kentucky’s pilot program of LIVESTRONG at the YMCA back in 2011, I have worked with over 100 survivors. There are many more who will need our help in the coming years.

Please join me with a contribution so that tomorrow’s cancer fighters can know what so many of us have learned the hard way: Cancer can kill us, but it can never defeat us if we choose to Live Strong.

Peace,

Bob Johnson
859 420-9327

Please click this link to donate to Living Strong at the YMCA, or mail your tax deductible contribution to:

Robert Parks Johnson
Living Strong at the Y 2013
North Lexington Family YMCA
381 West Loudon Ave
Lexington KY 40508

#407: 2012 Pittsburgh Marathon

A friend asked me, "How long does it take to train for a marathon?" I didn't hesitate. "51 years." This race report could be a novel, but I'll try to spare you that. Still, there's a lot to say.


ANTICI..... PATION


The 7 days before the marathon were verrrry long. Once the calender said "7 days," my obsession kicked into high gear. I wore shoes all the time so I wouldn't stub my toes. I questioned every bite of food. I saw myself running every time I closed my eyes. I promoted my fundraiser relentlessly. Monday night, I ran with the Run This Town kids from the Y and we did speed work: exactly what I should not have been doing the week before a marathon. That night, I lay in bed fretting over my sore quads. Had I hurt myself? Had I burned up too much energy? Would I recover in time for the race? 

By Wednesday, I was stone crazy. After a couple of hours of checking the clock, I got up at 4:30 and wrote out my agenda for the race weekend. Travel time. Sightseeing with Mrs P. Time at the race expo. Rest days. Race day. Then I wrote my packing list. Race clothes. Spare clothes. Street clothes.By the time I went to work, I was packed and ready to go. I ran 4 easy miles on the Legacy Trail to work off some nerves, then did my shift at the desk at the Y. Our LIVESTRONG at the YMCA class was particularly sweet that night. We had a good workout, then during stretch and reflect time, everyone wished me good luck. Rehearsal that night was long, but productive. Our directrix, the Mad Russian told me to win my marathon, and I assured her that I intended to do so.


Thursday was travel day. Mrs P packed and told me when she was finished so I could load the bags into the car. On the way out of town, I stopped to say goodbye to the gang at the Y, and to add my brother PP to our membership. He had driven up from Florida to watch the dogs, and wanted a place to exercise while he was in town. The lunchroom gang all wished me well, and I insisted on a big hug from Coach Melissa. Then we were off. The drive was lovely. Not even the great flat plains of central Ohio could dampen my spirits. We arrived at Mum's house just after dark, only to discover that I had packed everything except our suitcase. I had all my race clothes and spare gear. Nothing else. We added trips to Walmart and Goodwill to our itinerary...

Which way to the wharf?

Ran a marathon and all I got...

Friday morning, Mrs P and I drove the 2 hours to Pittsburgh in about 1:30. I got completely lost trying to find the entrance to the Monongahela parking wharf, and we wound up on the North Side, two rivers away, in the shadow of Heinz Field. A friendly waitress at a street cafe (something unheard of during the sooty days of my childhood in Pittsburgh) gave us directions, and we parked by the river. We explored the streets where my starting corral would be, and traced the route to the starting line. Hiked to the convention center to pick up my bib (number 4952), my race shirt, and my swag bag. The expo was a big trade show with booths representing gear manufacturers, retailers, charities associated with the race, and runner services. I spent as little money as possible, and we headed back home, stopping on Liberty avenue for a slice of the best pizza either of us had tasted since we moved from Brooklyn. That night, we bought some clothes at Goodwill in New Bethlehem, and underwear at the Walmart in Clarion. 

That's a runner's leg?

Love all up and down my arms

The girls over my heart

The Strong Eight

 Saturday, we relaxed on Mum's porch. Mrs P got out the Sharpies and wrote the names of all my sponsors on my arms, legs, and chest. My sister B came down to the house with a $20 bill and said she wanted to write her own name. "I want to write it on your butt," she joked. I was too tired to resist, and dropped trou right there on the porch. "Now I'll be riding your ass the whole way." Then it was time to go to bed. I did my final gear check, then turned out the lights, only to wake up every hour until 3:30 when the alarm sounded. 

One more for the 5

What I won't do for 20 bucks

 

Race day started with a toasted bagel and strawberry jelly. I didn't think my stomach would tolerate coffee, so I drank a couple of bottles of water. Checked the numbers on the fundraiser. Took in the love from my friends on Facebook. Rubbed on Mum's poodle, Cujo for a while. Then it was time to wake Mrs P, collect B, and hit the road. They slept while I drove the dark country roads under a gigantic full moon. It was so bright, it looked like the sun was about to come up. We twisted and turned through the night and I did my best to think about anything but the race. Fat chance. In the city, I took the wrong ramp off the Veterans Bridge, and we somehow wound up on top of Mt Washington, across the river from town and our parking spot. B managed to get me back, and we finally parked on the wharf. We walked along the river for a while, then climbed the old, concrete steps to Stanwix street.


MARATHON

Anybody got a light?

What's it like to line up with 25,000 runners? It isn't like anything at all. We walked up to Gateway Center, where the crowd curved around the bend toward the starting line. B wondered if there had ever been this many non-smokers downtown before. I could tell she was jonesing for one, but suspected she might have been beaten to death if she had tried to light up. Back at corral "E" where I would be starting, we found my pace group. I was shooting for 11:30/mile. I turned back and realized that there were about 40 runners behind me. I didn't bother doing the math. I was at the back of the biggest pack I had ever seen. Mrs P put her hand on my chest and confirmed what I felt: my heart was pounding. Just before the gun, we hugged and kissed and they left me to hop and stretch in the street. At 7:30 there was a great cheer, and the throng started shuffling toward the starting line. The race had begun.

Only 24,960 runners to beat

I had occasional running partners, curious about the names scrawled all over me, or the "Survivor" tag the folks at the LIVESTRONG booth had given me to wear. There were the people encouraging us through every neighborhood with water, fruit slices, and cowbells. We crossed the Allegheny three times, then went down the North Side to the West End Bridge over the Ohio. I was feeling great as we started up Carson Street, the main drag through the South Side: my family's first home when Gramma Johnson's parents brought her here from Ukraine in 1904. As we approached the Birmingham bridge and the 11 mile mark, I felt strong and confident. I had trained hard and was ready to begin the 5 mile climb to the Frick mansion in Shadyside. 


Wrong.

Uhhh... Keeneland's hills look nothing like this

I thought there were hills in the Bluegrass. I really did. They felt like hills to me. They were not hills. THIS was a hill. My form broke down quickly. My head dipped, my shoulders fell forward, and my upper back started to ache. Walk breaks became longer and more frequent. People on the side of the road would clap and encourage me, then ask if I was OK. Starting around mile 15, every step I took involved a cramp in my upper calves. Over and over I wanted to stop. Over and over I told myself aloud "Just keep moving." I stretched my neck up, trying to run tall. The angle of the climb was torture on my calves and hamstrings. The dreaded sweep bus pulled up beside me the first of many times and a ghoulish Samaritan stuck his head out the front window. "You want a ride?" I would rather have finished on bloody stumps than to get on that bus. I smiled, clenched my fists, and waved him on again and again. My heart and lungs were strong, but my muscles were failing me. I couldn't believe a person could hurt so much in so many places at once. Again and again, I looked down at the sweat smeared names written on my legs and arms. Donors. Lost loved ones. Fellow cancer fighters. They were the ones who got me through. There was no way I could have stayed off that bus on my own.

The dreaded "Sweep Bus"

Marathon: Robert Parks Johnson - FINISH in 6:21:53. Pace: 14:34. At 14:14:03.

In the shadow of the Pittsburgh Post Gazette,
 where my father, uncle and grandfather worked

Mrs P and B had managed to sneak into the VIP grandstands. It wasn't too hard, since the winners had finished over 4 hours earlier. I saw them cheering and snapping pictures just as I passed and their smiles gave me the last boost I needed to run across the finish line. A lady handed me my medal. Two young girls doused me with water. I staggered to a photo area where a man snapped my picture and handed me a business card. I guzzled Gatorade and water and grabbed a banana before wandering to a bench at the entrance of Point Park and prayed that the girls would somehow stumble across me. We embraced. "We did it," I said to Mrs P. "YOU did it," she corrected me. "WE did it," I insisted. "We kicked cancer's ass." My sister looked at the two of us and said, "You sure did." "We did it," I repeated. "F**k cancer."

WE did it

Polly, Marmaduke, and Mrs P

Riding back to Mum's was agony. My legs were seized with little cramps from my ankles to my hips. My seat was tipped all the way back and I slept most of the way, waking up from time to time as one spasm or another stabbed me. Mrs P sat in the back seat petting my head. B drove, singing along to country music on the radio. "When did my sister turn into a redneck?" I wondered sleepily. At Mums, the family greeted us. Hugs and congratulations all around. We ate something, I don't remember what. We opened a case of Iron City Beer and I drank three or four while kids and dogs played in the yard. I had stretched and used my foam roller as soon as we got home, and now I sat on the chaise lounge, my legs punishing me every time I tried to move them. My medal was still hanging around my neck. I looked around and thought to myself, "This just might be the happiest day of my life."

Mrs P and me before the race

My niece and a buddy

Nobody loves you like your little sister

The next morning, I checked my fundraiser page. $3490. I still have a few pledges coming in, so we'll be rounding that up a little. 


WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED?

Survivor? Damn right, I am

• The Pittsburgh was a very reckless choice for a first marathon.
• I need to spend a lot more time building up my core and leg strength.
• I want to be several pounds lighter before I take on my next 26.2.
• A four week taper might be just a little too long.
• I missed a lot of early walk breaks, and need a louder alarm so I can hear it in heavy traffic.
• I need a lot more speed and hill work if I'm going to enjoy my next big race.
• I have the best, most supportive, loving friends and family in the universe.
• God is great.
• Cancer is a wussy.
• There really is no place like home.
• I am a by-God marathoner.

My God, what a great day for a run.


Peace,
Pennsy


Oh by the way, Living Strong at the Y will be accepting donations until Sunday, May 13. You know, just in case you were waiting to see if I would actually do it!